A Short Scroll
Beautiful description of an England that has almost disappeared, thanks.
The Sunday bells of Horsham call,
Across the roofs of tilting hall.
Grey flint and redbrick blend and glow,
Beneath the April rains that blow;
And down the narrow cobbled street,
The ghost of Georgian footsteps beat.
Thanks for the kind words Alan and your fine poem.
Ah, Horsham! Lovely place, I know the area well. London feels like an alien country, if you want to know what England is like, you have to leave it.
Thank you Adam for this pleasant account of a pleasant experience.
Beautiful description of an England that has almost disappeared, thanks.
The Sunday bells of Horsham call,
Across the roofs of tilting hall.
Grey flint and redbrick blend and glow,
Beneath the April rains that blow;
And down the narrow cobbled street,
The ghost of Georgian footsteps beat.
Thanks for the kind words Alan and your fine poem.
Ah, Horsham! Lovely place, I know the area well. London feels like an alien country, if you want to know what England is like, you have to leave it.
Thank you Adam for this pleasant account of a pleasant experience.